


Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow?

by Vaecordia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Dark fic, Dark!America, Gen, Graphic Torture, Inner conflicts, Insanity, Nuclear War, Violence, War, World Domination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 03:55:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9105619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaecordia/pseuds/Vaecordia
Summary: Alfred reflects upon his past, wondering when he became like this. He shuts his eyes to the present, a crossroad in his life. He fears the future, where he will be the one to end it all. A nation, a superpower, a man, and something he doesn't want to be. He hides away in the temporary, fragile shell he created. America-centric.





	1. Yesterday

> You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.

He now checked for the third time in ten minutes whether or not the lock to his hotel room was indeed shut, and it was, as was the safety chain. He knew he was slipping, he knew he should calm down, he knew - but he couldn't. As much as he tried, he was slipping. He sat down on the edge of the double bed. Burying his head in his hands, the memories flooded his mind, unwanted memories, ones he had tried to lock up, stow away, but apparently failed to do so.

Failed, failed, failed - he felt that all he did these days was simply constantly failing. Whether it was failing to keep peace, failing to keep his country in check, or failing to keep his memories where they belonged, they were all still failures. And he was the biggest of them. And now, he was slipping - but he had to try, he had to, for the sake of the world, for the sake of his people - he couldn't allow himself to relapse. He had done it one too many times already.

He didn't know how long he had been locked up in his room, but so long as no-one came knocking he felt safe. He felt more sure of himself. He felt more secure, more like he would be able to control whatever it was threatening that same control. Never had he fooled himself into believing the idiotic smile he plastered on his happy-go-lucky features every meeting, every time he saw another nation, every time he was around a politician. He'd begun to notice it some time during the Civil War, when he was the most confused and afraid, when he had had urges to simply demolish the other side - whichever was losing at the moment. After the war, during which he had managed, in his insanity, to keep himself sane, he had noticed this feeling of need to grow. The need to expand, grow, strengthen, gain more territory for a growing people. But it was not the usual feeling of expansion he supposed many nations had had before - he could guess that much. It was much darker, much more powerful, much more fearsome.

But by some stroke of dumb luck, even in his youth, he had had enough sense to lock that person up, that voice, that side of him that promised death and destruction wherever it set its gaze upon. He'd managed to wall it up long enough to grow, mature himself, to strengthen the wall he had only barely built. It had been frail, but by the time the twentieth century had hit with full force, it was strong enough to last for a while. Even though that had lasted only half a century.

* * *

_How simple it was, to press a single button and have a country on his knees before him, offering unconditional surrender. And as poor, weak, mangled Japan was there, in front of him, giving up his country, refusing to fight any longer against this powerful country, Alfred stood there, tall, proud, cold. His icy eyes glared at the Asian before him, he barely heard the words exchanged between the leaders of the two countries._

_Alfred's hands were clasped behind him, both in a show of openness and completely false acceptance, and one of lies, still having something up his sleeve. And to be honest, he had a lot more there where this came from. This destruction, this pain, all this that had happened to the small island nation._

_Yet all Alfred felt was sheer power, unadulterated pride, relief at this war having ended, having no care for the man in front of him. And all that because of a single red button._

_It was frightening, simple, easy, terrifying,... thrilling._

* * *

Ever since that day, so many years ago, he had vowed once more he would never let that side of him see the light of day again. He had sworn he would keep it in check, and he had kept it so far. But he could feel the losing battle he was fighting in his head, and he was hoping to revert back to the old days, the simpler times. Back to when he used to sleep soundly and well, when he was not ridden with paranoia, when he was not doubting everything and everyone, when he was not considered the bane of the world, when he used to be scared to take up arms against another nation, when he used to mourn all loss of life and not discard those lives. When he was not yet the chess player he was today, who thought every move only in his advantage, who would gladly sacrifice a pawn to take a bishop, whose mind was twisted only around the game and the board and winning.

He knew he could sacrifice everyone and anyone, from strangers wearing his uniform to his family. He knew that if he slipped, there would be nothing holding him back from utter and complete dominance over the rest of the world. Not Matthew's soft-spoken reasoning or his harsh accusations, that he had seen on occasions. Not Arthur's scolding or insults. Not Ivan's ice-cold glares or superhuman strength. Not Yao's wisdom, not Europe's strength, not Africa's vastness nor heat, not South America's distaste of him, not Asia's hatred for invaders. If it came down to it, he knew he could be so heartless as to himself kill Matthew, destroy Arthur, obliterate Ivan, run Africa over and conquer South America and invade Asia.

But he also knew the sense of twisted sadism in him, that would drag out the suffering of those who opposed him. He would kill those who did not matter that much, but that were everything to them. He would then slowly hurt their people. And he would finally allow them to have peace when they were asking for death. Not for the sweet release of death, no. When they were _begging_ for a _gruesome_ and _painful_ death, when they were so _desperate_ as to _grovel_ for a _pathetic_ death.

And the fact that he knew all this only scared him much more. How had he become this shell of a man existing only to shelter the world from its impending destruction?

* * *

_"I don't... I don't know how to use this..." The fearful thirteen-year-old's voice piped up. He held the weapon in his hands, completely wrong, completely useless at anything defensive._

_"Oh, that's simple, let the awesome me teach you! Then you can kick that bastard's ass back over the ocean where he belongs!" Those words were anything but reassuring - he felt that there was something to them, a ring, a hidden meaning, that was only visible to he, himself, that made him uncomfortable. He doubted the Prussian had meant anything else with those words, but Alfred himself felt scared by their consequences._

_The cold metal was just that - cold, unfamiliar, heavy, frightening, he felt nothing but fear towards it. He knew what it could do, and he did not want to use it for that. But, he thought as he lifted the bayonet gun like he was instructed to, he had to do this. For his people._

* * *

It all used to be about his people. He would die for his people, he would do anything to keep them safe. He would starve when they were hungry, he would bleed when they were wounded, he would stand at the front lines of any battle when his armies were standing. When had that changed so drastically? When had his people started dying for him, but not the other way around? When had he started to doubt his people so much? When had he begun blindly trusting his government, and stopped listening to his people?

It was probably sometime during the early Cold War, when he was still so young, so naïve, so gullible and trusting and fearful. That was also when he had changed himself. He had fallen into the pits of a desperate fear, one that he had taken years to dig himself out of. Years after the fall of the Union, years after the whole stand-off was over and done with, years after everything should have been safe.

How had he come to be this superpower? How had he, perhaps the most dangerous man on the planet, come to be also the most powerful? How had he achieved this position of world leader, of limitless power, ability and potential? Why had he allowed it? Why had the other nations allowed it? God, Alfred had known this would someday backfire on him, terribly. All that talk of being a hero, saving the world, of being the greatest and most awesome person to ever exist - of course the other nations would then turn to him in times of fear and panic and need. They wanted him to make good on his words, and like the good-hearted person he was, he did. He ignored the consequences, as Alfred, the caring idiot, would. He had simply thought it would help the world, and in a way, he had. He had saved the world from the "communist threat" that had everyone so shaken up. Alfred had been distracted by it. He has not noticed how all of this had only catapulted him to his film, how it had all been a catalyst to the world's doom. Hell, he had been careless back then. Too goddamn worried about Ivan, trying to distract himself from his own fighr, hoping it would make hit go away. Not to Alfred's surprise, it had not.

As McCarthyism had spread through his veins, and his people turned against each other in fear of the communist _disease_ , that's when he'd turned on them.

* * *

_"A little bird told me that you've been spying on us, against us. Were they lying?" Gun pointed at the man's head, ready to shoot. The cold glare of ice-blue eyes drove into the man in front of him, like it had done only a decade earlier into another man. Another nation. He was barely of age, half the age of the man he was interrogating, but refused to let his youth show._

_"Well, seeing as you are the interrogator, you should know when someone is lying, shouldn't you? Unless you're incompetent. Tell me, how many innocent people have you had thrown to the chair just because you were convinced that they were Soviet spies? Ten? More? Because I can see it in your eyes."_

_Seething, he kept his voice calm. "All of those people had committed a crime against this nation, and according to the evidence I have, so have you. You were found in the possession of a lot of stuff you shouldn't have, and you've been in protests, and you've been befriending a lot of wrong people. Pretty hard evidence, or am I wrong?"_

_"Oh, I forgot that freedom of speech in this country was selective. See, I was under the impression that a person was free to express their opinion and political beliefs freely. I now remember that that applies only if it is what the government agrees with. My mistake."_

_Eyes burned. "Freedom of speech goes so far as it does not threaten the security of this country or hi - its people! And you relayed information about nuclear weapons to the Soviets, which is a capital crime, betrayal, of your country! It threatens the American people, because what happens when those bastards decide to use that knowledge!?"_

_"Christ, this country is more backwards than the country_ you _claim is most so. Freedom of speech is a right of every person, but once they exert it it is taken form them on account of 'danger' or 'threat'. Liberty for all - unless your opinions are not ours. Refuge offered for those who seek it - but they are suspected from the very moment they step into the country. Hundreds of years this has gone on, but really, now it's just ridiculous to keep that damn pretense up while it's a complete farce!"_

_And Alfred snapped. The next thing he knew, he was laughing maniacally while tears ran down his cheeks, his arms wrestled back as he shouted obscenities at the dead man._

* * *

He remembered that time - that dangerous time, during which he was at his frailest, his resolve was weakest, his beliefs barely kept together, his thought never truly organised. It was a wonder he had not utterly snapped at that point.

He was a hero - he knew that for a fact. But while he did, none of the other nations did. They all mistook the self-proclamations of world saviour and universal hero as ridiculous over-exaggerated shows of Alfred's too inflated ego, he knew it wasn't. But the thing was, as long as the other nations did not know he was a hero, so long he would be safe - so long he would be the hero. Because if they knew what he was holding back, what he was a hero for, then that meant that the monster within him would show. And then, he'd have failed yet again.

He was scared, confused, angry, annoyed, frightened, every description in the world except happy. But in confusion he found safety, in fear he found refuge. Happiness he found to be undesirable, his anger, dangerous. As long as he was confused, it meant he was holding back, holding on to his facade of self, his weak wall of pretense. Fear meant he was still in control, because so long as he felt fear, so long he was himself. But if he were to be happy at a time like this, it meant he would be long gone. Anger would only precipitate his fall.

He knew what the - the monster, the _thing_ he really was, was capable of. He called that side of him America - not human, unfeeling, emotionless. It was capable of taking over the world in a matter of years. Of having the world on its knees in mere months. Of scaring every country to the bone, into surrender or alliance, whichever he found more useful. He knew himself to be cold, calculating, intelligent, strategic, dangerous, violent, angry, threatening. And though these came across in his actions even now, it was never to the extent it could be. He could only imagine one of the many, many scenarios in how things might play out. And though he really wanted to keep those nightmares out of his mind, his brain sent them back to him every night to entice him to give up, admit defeat of the lost battle, to let go. He didn't want to, but he knew that someday, for a godforsaken reason he did not yet know, he would - let go, that is. Lose. Give up. His facade was tearing, the wall crumbling, and he couldn't build it back up fast enough.

He feared the world he was to create. Or end.

* * *

_He watched the live feed as the last mushroom cloud evaporated into the air, the last of hundreds of nuclear weapons detonated around the world. But none, not one, had reached his own people. That last one had exploded over Moscow, a gesture which in his opinion was symbolic of quite a few things. But he had managed also to destroy every single reserve of nuclear weapons on the planet, while he himself still had a few in stock. But now, with the world's countries thrown into confusion and at loss of what to do, he no longer needed to use them. This was when the real fun would begin._

_In a matter of days, his alliance with Matthew was finalised (Canada no longer existed). In a week, he had absorbed Britain (who now no longer was), and all that remained of its long-gone Empire and Commonwealth. Australia had fallen faster than expected (no such nation), barely any force had to be used. He was halfway down the American continent in two weeks (one country grew more and more). His troops had progressed far beyond Poland into the east of Europe by the end of the month (the country grew by continents now). Africa was nearly under his control in two months (half of the world). And when finally southern Asia was his, all that remained was the battered, dead territory of Russia, in which a great number of nations existed in hiding, in rebellion (one last stand)._

_How ironic this all was, in America's opinion. That the last country to still stand proud and resistant to his increasingly harsh and successful attempts at invasion would be Russia. That the world had not ended in Mutual Assured Destruction, because no-one had the weapons to any more. That America, the supposed hero of the world would be the one to bring a rather different end to it than had been thought._

_But he knew that Russia was weak. He was growing weaker by the day, the hour, the second. Every second that passed, Alfred's armies increased their efforts, and every second, they gained land on Russia. Russia would not last through the winter that had so often saved him on previous occasions. And he knew that famine and disease and death reigned in the nearly barren land, where people held on to last desperate scraps of hope._

_In America's opinion, there really was little to no reason to fight him. He knew he would come out on top in the end, he knew he would win. And honestly, all he really planned was to take over the world to finally implement peace upon it. Perhaps not the peace they had had in mind, but something that suited America's ideas. There really was no wrong done here, he had the right idea - peace. Perhaps the means were not agreeable to all, but nevertheless the trust would be the same._

_He knew that those nations whose land America had taken, but whom he had not either killed or imprisoned, were living with the Russian, in a pathetic attempt to rally, to turn things against America. But they all feared him, they were all scared of the potential that had come to show in Alfred, they were all frightened to the bone. They no longer recognised the ridiculous, good-natured and kind-hearted American dreamer they had once known and taken for granted. They did not know this was who the American truly was. How the facade he had put up had fooled them all so well, so perfectly, that they had never thought about this kind of end for their nation. And Alfred had used that in his advantage, of course - the element of surprise was, still, the weapon he used most. He would divert, make unnecessary detours if it meant that he had that element. Because if he did, then they would no longer have been unnecessary._

_And these days, America never failed._

* * *

"No, no, no, please, no, don't - NO!" He shouted, stumbling into the bathroom. Looking up into the mirror, he saw someone he no longer recognised, but who still seemed familiar. There were just too many things about him that had changed, yet remained the same.

His blue eyes were still tormented, but it was a cold storm raging there. It was the same face he had been looking at for a hundred years, only shallower, more sunken, more tired, but also more frigid, more strained, more taut. His frame was lean and slim underneath the clothes, but there was both conflict and strength in that tired body. The dark suit, tight and claustrophobic suit he wore - he hated it. He loathed it deeply. It made him seem formal, it made him seem important, when all he wanted to do was vanish and allow the world to breathe a sigh of relief it never would know it had held. He wanted to get away, leave it all behind, die and leave them all alone, in peace, without both the idiocy he provided and the threat he hid.

He wanted to, but despite how many times he had killed himself - tried to - it never worked. Never, never, never, never had, never would. He knew it didn't work, he would wake up in a hospital, feeling either slightly dizzy from a fall of with a mild headache from the bullet. He had tried every poison, every weapon, every way to die, even though he knew it was a lost cause. Just like the battle he fought within his head. No-one knew of these attempts except his leader, whoever it was at the time. Not a single nation had ever caught on to it.

How blind they were, with a selective sight, only seeing that which they wanted to see. How grateful he was for that, for now. But he knew that that blindness would also kill them one day, in a nearer or farther future. He did not want to find out which, but he knew he would not be so blessed as to be able to do that.

He would just have to keep it inside as long as he could, have it destroy Alfred from within, his sanity, his personality, everything he was, everything he stood for, and everything he had ever done. Including sealing up America. And then, there would be no-one to save the world from the hero who became death.


	2. Today

> You're never fully dressed without a smile

Alfred chewed on the end of his pen absent-mindedly, pretending not to listen to Ludwig droning on and on about yet another world issue that Alfred _could_ solve in a minute, but didn't. But he heard every word. Looking about the conference room with a bored looked pasted on his features, he started bouncing his leg "discreetly" up and down, adding to the fidgeting attitude he always came in with. He looked impatient to get out for lunch, but desperate due to the fact that the meeting had started an hour ago. Alfred checked the list of presentations, and saw that he, in fact, was next. Therefore, he re-arranged some of the random papers in his file, where there was a whole pre-prepared speech and statistics and lists of facts and diagrams, which he would naturally forgo and simply get down to his "heroic awesome idea".

He had spun and woven yet another stupid idea, with even more ridiculous justifications, and completely out-of-the-question methods. He felt rather proud of this one - although he felt proud at every idea, each one being more and more idiotic than the previous. Now, he had discarded the idea of a hero (mostly) and gone to a super-machine saving the world. He should really just create a wheel of fortune for himself, to decide what issue he would deal with, what would solve it, and how. Although he had the art down to every detail by now, after doing it for nearly fifty years.

He had not even noticed that Germany had left the podium until his name was shouted for the fifth time. Or, that's what the other nations saw - of course he had seen, of course he had heard, but naturally he had ignored it. Or what was natural for Alfred. He babbled a stupid excuse at the awaiting nations, laughing off his distraction, and attempting to compose his frail mind. He knew that the conflict he had gone through only yesterday had not helped him prepare for today in the least, although he did feel slightly better.

Better enough to paste that facade once more on his face.

He took up the podium, immediately opening a bright and colourful PowerPoint Presentation about the problem of pollution - specifically, material pollution. He launched into his speech, ignoring the annoyed and exasperated looks thrown his way.

_What an idiot._

"So I suggest we deal with pollution today, 'cause that's, like, completely unhealthy - and a total hero like me can't live in a dirty world!"

_The world's most powerful nation, really?_

"SO! The idea I have is that we build a super-catapult, that will throw all the trash up into space and out, so that it then is off of earth and ends up somewhere on Jupiter!"

Groans. _Why is he allowed to make presentations?_

_What would have happened if it were Russia who had won the Cold War? Would it be any better?_

_I thought the last idea was the worst, but wow, this is a new low._

Alfred turned to the other nations, a fake bright smile on his face. "Who's with me?"

As expected, it was Arthur who spoke up first. Alfred really thought he had braced himself for the bashing about to come. Except it was worse than nay other time.

"Alfred, for God's sake, can't you _please_ come up with a feasible and logical idea for once? We've had enough of your daft propositions already!" _So have I, Arthur, but you know nothing._

Alfred's smile faltered slightly. "But this is a great idea!"

"Didn't I honestly raise you better than this? It doesn't even seem like you're taking this seriously!" _Are any of you?_ "Can't you focus on this for once?"

"I am, this is what I worked out is the best-"

"Alfred, please, take your seat, this idea cannot be executed," Ludwig stated calmly, but the hint of exasperation reminded Alfred of the "hint" of spice in a suicide-hot sauce in Indian food.

"Really, Alfred, this is a new low for you," Ivan leered at him from the other side of the room.

"Shut up, commie bastard!" He shot, as per usual Alfred.

"Will you stop trying to cause another fucking World War with the bastard?" Lovino shouted, already annoyed out of his mind with the antics of the other nations. "We've had enough of your ideas, and if those don't end up destroying us, then that war certainly will do the job!"

"I think his existence is simply going to end us," said Maria, the representative of Mexico. Who basically hated Alfred, and who was already on America's blacklist. "That stupidity is gonna spread everywhere, and we'll just end up with a stupid world."

"He's already killing us, why the fuck did he get involved with our matters?" The Iraqi nation screamed. This was getting worse and worse by the minute, and Alfred felt his patience fraying. But he held on to the mere scraps of it he had left.

As the insults just got worse and the ideas went to more violent, Alfred was flabbergasted but also somewhat not surprised. That most nations truly hated him, he knew. But that it was to this extent... He could see that they had forgotten he was there, and the ideas ranged very broadly from banning him from the meetings to attempting to strip him of his superpower status.

"Why the hell do we invite him to these meetings any more? All he does is lose time and propose stupid things!"

_Am I really that much of an idiot? Do I play my part too well?_

"I think we might get more things solved without him, no?"

He could feel how as Alfred grew more hurt by the thoughts of the other nations, America gained more ground on his mind. All the hatred of the other nations settled into Alfred's thoughts as insecurity, which America countered with promises of power and strength.

_You wouldn't survive a day without me._

_No, I can't think that, they would probably be fine. Just fine. I'm not that brilliant and dependable._

"He's a superpower, damn it, we have to make do with him! Why he is, I don't damn well know, but-"

_I know why, and there's a very good reason._

"Maybe he shouldn't be a superpower then!"

_You have no idea what I can do._

_No - I can't do anything, I can't, I can't - there's nothing I can do, nothing, not a thing._

"Well, what's your idea, bastard?"

"Leave me out of this!"

"Let's just get rid of him, instead of letting him idiotically sit on his laurels like the fucking king of the world who has no clue what's going on!"

_Let's just see you fucking try to get rid of me._

And, for the last time he snapped.

His eyes grew cold and hard, his smile froze where it was uncomfortably settled on his thin lips. He turned back to the podium, which he had been halfway of leaving, and he watched the scene unfold in front of him. Straightening his back and readjusting his crisp suit, he leant against the podium. He took in every insult, every jab, every threat, and waited. He made mental notes of those nations who would pose a threat, those who were just insulting him for the sake of doing so, those who went along with it all, everything. He also noted those too distracted still to care. And he waited, as the nations screamed and shouted obscenities at each other, waited for them to notice the change in the American nation, waited for them to take in where they were. Waited for them to notice that there might be danger surrounding them.

And it took a while, but suddenly one nation grew aware of the change in "Alfred". How his eyes seemed so cold and focused and emotionless, except for morbid amusement at the prospect of nations fighting each other. The way his stance had become much more official, much more dangerous, much more _comfortable._ How his smile was still there, but how it was off. How his steel-blue gaze never left the argument in front of him. And suddenly, a murmur spread through the entire room, the arguing nations falling silent as they turned to look at "Alfred". When nothing happened, "Alfred" spoke up.

"Oh, are you done fighting? What a pity, I was having such fun listening to that." He shrugged. Beginning to collect his papers calmly, he continued. "I believe that now that it is quiet here, it would a good time for the next presentation. Or are you going to do this same thing again?"

Not a single nation answered him as he strolled coolly back to his seat. The two nations who had been sitting next to him seemed to be a bit further away than what they had been. He looked at the other nations expectantly, waiting for them to make a move. When nothing happened, he prompted, "Well?"

A single nation, a somewhat shook-up but calm Japan stood and began making his way to the podium. Ludwig turned to speak to "Alfred".

"Is everything alright, Alfred?"

"It's America to you," he stated. "And yes, everything is perfectly fine. Why wouldn't it be? The meeting is still continuing, is it not?"

And indeed, the meeting went on. Kiku finished his presentation - which had been difficult considering that America pointed out every flaw in every argument he made. The next presenter, Arthur, was met with the same cold dismissal. The exact same thing happened with every nation who tried to argue their point. After two hours of this, someone finally decided to stand against it. It seemed he had frightened them more than he had first thought.

"Well, if you're so smart, then why don't you come up with something better?" Arthur shot at him from across the table.

A single blonde eyebrow rose upwards in a delicate, derisive arch. "I'm rather confused here, to be completely honest with you. I had the impression that you did not, in fact, want my ideas. That you all consider me incompetent to come up with ideas that can solve these problems. That you all would consider yourselves better off without my "stupid ideas"." Alfred turned to the other nations, leaning carelessly back in his chair. "Am I wrong? Isn't that exactly what you said while you were arguing about what to do with me?"

He stood to address the other nations better, so that every single one of them could see him and hear him. He began strolling around the table, walking leasuredly behind the seated nations. "Because that is exactly what _I_ heard. That you consider me so stupid as to not hear your insults, your hatred of me, your threats, your ideas on how to get rid of me." He paused at the end of the table. "I can assure you, it won't be easy to get rid of me, if that's what you want to try doing."

"That's not-" Maria started, but Arthur interjected before any of this went further.

"Alfred -"

"America."

"Stop this right now, this is getting ridiculous! What in God's name is going on with you?"

"The exact same thing that has been going on ever since I defeated the world's greatest Empire and gained my own independence. I'm the exact same, there's nothing to stop, to be true."

"Alfred-"

"America."

"We're friends, brothers, aren't we, not enemies!"

"We might as well be," America countered.

At that, Arthur paused. "What on Earth are you on about? This is ridiculous, sit down and let this meeting go on."

"Arthur, Arthur, Arthur." Alfred ' _tsk_ 'ed, his tone ridiculing and belittling the former Empire. "You really think you have any right or power to tell me what to do? Huh, I find that funny, because independence means you do not have those, and you do not get to do that. So while you have been pushing Alfred around for years, I won't let you do that any longer. And you really should heed that advice."

"Al- America, are you O.K.?" Matthew piped up, heard for once.

"Yes, I am. Better than I have been in years, to tell you the truth." Alfred smiled coldly, almost like what Ivan's smile looked like. "I'm not tormented any more by trivial things and such, so I believe I am perfectly well." He saw the confused and thrown-off looks of the other nations. "Is there something wrong with you?"

"Yes, America, there is!" Arthur shot. "What are you playing at?"

"A game I have not played in years upon years." America's grin widened to wolfish. "See, while you have all been busy bashing and criticising Alfred for what he does, for his ridiculous and idiotic persona, you did not perhaps realise that he was merely a self-sacrificing emotion-tormented young nation who had no idea what to do, who felt so lonely all the time, who was trying to 'save' you all from what he saw to be a sword of Damocles hanging over your heads?" He cocked his head. "And that perhaps that sword was he, himself?"

Ivan was the first one who seemed to somewhat catch on to what was happening, and America noticed it. "Ah, see, you understand! I knew you would. After all, it wouldn't be too hard to connect the dots, especially after what happened during the Cuban crisis, yes?"

"America, what are you-"

"Such a pity, perhaps you did not understand then." America's smile disappeared, vanishing like smoke into thin air. "All I am saying is, while you were too selfish to care about Alfred and his feelings, you did not realise that he was a frail being, who was simply trying to protect everyone he loved most. But I'm not going to reveal all of this, no, where would be the fun in that?"

"America, you're being ridiculous-"

"I think you really should stop calling me names and insulting me, it's really not in your best interest."

"How the bloody hell would you know what is in my best interest?!"

"Because I am the one who holds the most firepower, manpower, and economic power on the planet. I could destroy each and every one of you all with a single push of a button, I hope you realise that. So really, I propose you stop that. Now, will you side with me, and play nice, or will I have to hurt you?"

"America - what are you-"

"I'm really growing tired of your questions. It's not that hard to understand. And you called Alfred daft," America muttered.

"Those threats are ridiculous, you know that yourself! M.A.D. was your bleeding policy! Besides, you have no right - _none whatsoever -_ to make them! That can be considered a declaration of war!"

America smiled, more a sickly sweet grimace from which poison seeped through heavily. Before anyone could react, he spoke. "Consider it whatever you want," he pulled his handgun out of his pocket, aiming it at Arthur, and shooting. "But that's exactly what I would call it."

As the only sound filling the room were the pained and gurgling gasps from Arthur, America turned to the others. "You can either surrender now, become my ally, or fight me."

In surrender, they would die, and America would gladly take over their country.

In an alliance, they will end up killing each other, America would make sure of that.

In fight, they would die, once more by America's hands.

He turned to leave the conference room, before he turned back one last time. "Oh, and Ivan? I'd keep a tight check on where your nukes are. You don't want them ending up accidentally in the wrong place. Meaning my country." He laughed. "Oh, silly me, those reserves of yours might already be destroyed at this point!"

Laughing manically, he left the room of terrified nations. The world would die in an explosion of colour and heat, before peace would reign on the planet once more.

Peace, meaning America, and America alone would reign.


	3. Tomorrow

> manifest destiny: n. the 19th-century doctrine/belief that the expansion of the United States  
> throughout the American continents was both justified and inevitable.

A harsh blue gaze flitted over the destroyed landscape, too uncaring to really notice it as America strode forwards amidst the rubble. Dodging expertly the pieces of house, thrown onto the street, the shards of glass on the road, and the buildings teetering on their structures. He was near his destination, and he cared about nothing else but that. He had just passed the Peace Tower, and was heading towards Parliament Hill. America knew _he_ would be there, waiting, perhaps dying. Although the nation had barely been attacked at its border, its capital had been basically flattened.

So far, he mused, his plan was going perfectly. He had never expected anything less, really. He had made sure that when he did make his move, no nation would stand against him. Even despite the scene he had caused at the last World Summit the nations would ever attend, not a single nation had moved a finger against him. After Arthur had died, Britain had been thrown into chaos - economic recession had hit first, agriculture stalled, production stopped, riots, government in shambles... no nation could survive without their representative tying the people together into one person. So, America had done what any honourable and decent nation would do: he had assumed responsibility of the United Kingdom. Or, in other words, he had sent his army there, and smiled at a few cameras, signed a few treaties, and gain his fifty-first state. Britain. And from there, everything had been so smooth, so easy. Because of his vantage point in Europe, he had managed to throw Europe's countries into mistrust, fear, paranoia. He had gained allies, and the rest were fighting against each other. He had not yet made another move on the continent, but after the dissolution of the European Union, he had a hunch that he would not need to. He could simply wait that half of Europe's countries killed each other, and then he would strike. So far, he had a bunch of countries in an alliance with him, and some of them had already died - in the hands of their own allies. In his opinion, the phrase "Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer" made no damn sense. Enemies, they hated you - they always had, always would. There was no doubt about that. Every day that passed, they would still hate you - they wouldn't turn their coat suddenly on you, because you were expecting it.

But friends, they were fickle. A friend could be so loyal as to die for you. they could be so stupid as to sacrifice themselves for you, or they could be a passive friend, who would stay with you until you were no longer to their advantage. Or they could be a traitor from the starting point, a friend who would only befriend you to give information to your enemy. An enemy would try every trick in the book as soon as the moment was right, but a friend would pick and choose, sometimes betraying you, sometimes dying for you. And so, he turned allies against each other, to get rid of those friends who might or might not turn their coat on him. And additionally, he soon was seen as a nation who was powerful, but whose allies were weak.

Even after what he had done at the meeting, _no-one suspected him._

Goddamn fools, they were.

Except Ivan. The Russian had not made a single move against him or towards him, not mentioning alliance nor war, after his nuclear reserves were bombed to the ground. Some nations had already fled to his country, for a safe haven. America really could not care less about where the countries went, as he would end up finding them in the end.

He had finally reached Parliament Hill, and smirked at the knowledge that this... It was the beginning of the end. And while Europe fought itself, the Middle East was collapsing in on itself, Africa was starving, South America was ridden with paranoia, and Asia was on the verge of war, America had made his move, northward.

The door to the Parliament had been locked - keyword, _had_ been. He had simply pulled out his gun - the one he no longer went anywhere without - and fired at the lock six times. The door flung open as he side-stepped it, changing the magazine of his weapon. He made his way in the maze of halls, knowing exactly where he was going. While Alfred had been here multiple times, he had always gotten lost, America did not. He went from one corridor to another, taking turns swiftly and purposefully. He finally arrived to the end of the unending hallway, and once more, the door was locked. It met the same fate as had the previous one, and he produced yet another clip to replace the emptied one. Stepping into the wide room, he took in the sight in front of him: it looked like he had just stepped into what might have been the trajectory of a tornado, a battlefield, and a nuclear explosion all at once. It was an office - or had been. There was something that was identifiable as a desk, a desk chair, filing cabinets,... but none of these items were in their initial or proper places, nor where all of the furniture completely whole. Drawers had been pulled out of the cabinets, papers having been scattered wherever the wind from the shattered window dropped them, the desk was sporting a number of cracks and dents, ink-stains pooled under broken pens, and - his eyes finally landed on what he was looking for. Or rather, _whom_.

The man was propped up against the back of the desk, half-lying on the floor, half-leaning against the desk and sitting up in a poor attempt at some semblance of fight, remaining strength, dignity. Red stained the front of his previously crisp white shirt, crimson blood entangling with the dark ink on the floor. He heard hisses of pain and weak gasps, the man's breath coming unsteadily. But America knew that in less than a week, if everything went according to plan, this man would be just fine. The fierce, angry, lavender eyes met his, a gaze angrier than America had ever seen in the other's eyes.

"You - how dare -" A hiss of pain. "How _dare_ you come here?" Matthew's raspy, worn voice tried to shout at him, but came out as questioning, merely confused. Almost with a desperate tinge to it.

America smiled, a hollow grimace devoid of all emotion but victory. "Easily, I strolled in here. Which was rather easy, with no-one left here." America took another casual look around the office, all the while holding the gun in his hand - for the moment, pointed to the ground. "How's my dearest brother doing?"

"Just _brilliant._ " Well, there was still an edge of sarcasm in it. All was definitely not lost. "Just - why the fuck are you here? Come to g-" Cough. "Gloat about my state?"

America chuckled, a dark laugh deep from his throat. "Is that what you think? No, actually, that's not what I'm here for." America walked closer to the pained Canadian, and knelt in front of him. His clean, black leather shoes were now stained by the mixture on the parquet floor. But he cared the least about that. "No, I'm here to offer you a way out of this. Offer you a choice. A final decision. Which is completely yours to make, realise that." America stared deep into the soft, fiery eyes. "Your choice is life, or death." He watched the reaction of the other man, who at first gave none, before starting to laugh - or cough, it was a mix of both.

"You really - how did I guess?" Matthew looked back at America, not recognising the blue eyes. The eyes that had once been so bright, so full of life, so full of hope, dreams, and happiness. He recognised none of the steel-grey that had settled in them, the madness that had taken them over, the darkness that had overtaken them, the void created by the inhumane mind behind them, the heartless soul they showed. "Who are you? Alfred, what happened to you? Why are you - like _this_? Why do you keep doing this?"

America sighed. "Matthew, I've been telling you, Alfred's gone. Alfred no longer exists. He's vanished, no longer here - _I killed Alfred,_ " he stated without any care, as if he were explaining something trivial. "Alfred was weak. He was pathetic. He was young, innocent, confused, frightened, misled, misinformed, too pure... He was a lot of things, but he was _weak_. Alfred created his own facade to seal me away, to keep me locked up. See, Alfred still is me, but he no longer really is. When he became a colony, when he was born, Alfred was a small child, pure, innocent, a human, a colony, but not a nation. When he became a nation, that's when he started getting thoughts about the things I am now doing. America, as a nation, is the most powerful nation that has ever been, and it was always going to be. Whatever happened. And he couldn't help his darker thoughts, but he grew afraid of them. Hence, he managed to give these thoughts a personality, which really was stupid of him. He gave them a side, a personality, a kind of mentality, and from there, he and I grew apart. But he made himself too weak, by doing that. He could never control me, hold me back. And that's why I'm here today. Because _Alfred made me._ " America watched the other one, waiting for a reaction.

When none came, he decided to develop his proposal. "So now, back to your options." He hoisted himself up, walking slowly around the room, looking out from the bust window, examining everything but his brother. "One, which is really the proposal I advise, is that you make this easy on yourself, and join me. We don't have to fight, you know. If you had just allied with me in the first place, you wouldn't be here. Lying pathetically on your office floor. Dying. Covered in the blood of your veins and of your people. Barely able to form a few words, string sentences together. But, the offer still stands." Now, he turned back to Matthew, his eyes flashing behind his glasses. "We can be allies. We can _unite._ Our countries can join together - 'become one', to use a personal favourite." He gave a non-committal shrug, a slight lopsided grin tugging at his lips for a second before giving up. Matthew decided to interject.

"You? Ally myself with _you?_ D-do you really think I'm fucking stupid?!" Matthew snapped, his voice strained and weak, but there was some fight in him still. "I've seen what you've done to Francis and Ludwig, to Yao, Im Yong Soo and Kiku! To all the people who trusted you, but whom you managed to single-handedly and indirectly betray! I _know,_ America - believe -" Coughs wracked his body. "Believe me, I know it's you. It's always you. You're never not involved. You're never out of it, innocent, an external party. You rarely used to be, but now, it's to a new scale. _Never,_ you hear me? _Never will I become your ally!"_ And that was when Matthew's body let go of another lung-tearing string of coughs. It gave America time to look at the state of his brother and assess his chances of success before the other would pass out.

"Though I should be wounded, I really can't find it in me. Why should I? It's all true, anyway. You're absolutely right, Matthew. But that is straying from the subject at hand. Do you know what will happen to your country if you die? I will invade. If you fight? I will invade. If you surrender? You can live, with me, in peace. You're still my brother, and I would never hurt you intentionally."

That was an utter lie, and they both knew it.

"If you accept, and God forbid you didn't, you wouldn't die away, leave your country completely into my hands. You would remain on this planet, you would keep your country, your nation, your people, only you would be so, so, _so_ much more powerful than you can ever imagine. On the other hand, the second option-"

"I'm taking it."

America looked at him in question. "What?"

"The second option, I'm taking it."

America hung his head, shaking it in exasperation. "You never let me finish."

"I don't care. Anything is better than to just give up and become your fucking puppet. Anything is better than living in your house, off your luxuries, covered in imported sheets and drinking exotic wine. Anything is better than dying inside, every day, because you've surrendered your country to another without a fight."

"But you've fought already. And you've lost, Matthew."

"I don't care! Anything is better than living with _you!_ "

_BANG!_

"Fine then. You made the decision." America stepped over the body of the nation slumped against the desk. He collected a few bits and pieces of paper, before turning back to a dead Matthew, empty lavender eyes staring back at him. He smiled, a giggle edging its way up his throat and onto his lips. "You're making this much too easy for me."

* * *

Feet propped up on the desk, America leant back comfortably in the chair he was in. He stared back at the man who was sitting opposite to him, on the other side of the metal table. That was the only thing separating him from the Chinese-man. Despite having been here an our already, a single word remained yet to be exchanged between the two. America was content with just watching the Asian, whose eyes were full of fire and hate and anger. It was a similar look to that which he had seen in violet eyes only a month prior. He could see that Yao would break any minute. After all the Chinese man had been under a lot more pressure and stress lately than the Western nation. And so it did happen.

"What do you _want_ from me?!" He shouted, trying to break out of the handcuffs that shackled his hands behind his back, behind the back of the chair.

America sighed. This would be a long, long session. "I'm not going to do the whole cliché 'I think you do', because hell, you wouldn't ask that if you did. I haven't told you, so you cannot know. You cannot know whether I've had you brought here because of your sheltering nations who have fled from me. Because I want them dead. Because you've killed some of your - and therefore my - allies. Or maybe because you're trying to be a double agent for that fucking bastard, Braginsky." He examined the look he received. "And don't give me all that crap about how you don't know what I'm talking about, because now you know why you're here. We've been allies for years, haven't we? Remember those good ol' times during WWII, when I helped you deal with Kiku? Or after the Cold War, when trade between us was better than ever? And then now, you decided to choose wisely and not go against me. So why now, of all times? Why would you turn your coat now? You knew I would find out, that I would catch you, and that I would kill you. Because if there's one thing I can't stand, it's traitors."

America stood from his chair, his bored look replaced with mischief and cunning. He placed the suitcase he had brought with him on top of the table, and opened it so that Yao could not see its contents. His gaze fleeting over the case's contents, he picked out brass knuckles, which he placed on his right hand. Flexing his fingers, he then curled them around the cold metal, giving it a short feel before turning to the tied man. "I'm here to ask you questions, most of which you won't know the answer to, until you will no longer be able to do anything but beg for mercy, for me to kill you. That's what I'm here for." He landed the first punch square on his jaw, before taking off the knuckles and placing them back. He had so many different things to use before he was through that he had decided to use every contraption once before switching. He then took up a knife. And from there, the interrogation began.

"Who is in China?" A half an answer, a plunge of the knife.

"How long have they stayed there?" A hiss, a vial of acid.

"What have you told Braginsky?" A snarl, a non-lethal gunshot.

"What has he told you?" A weak answer, a broken bone.

"How many nations are hiding in Russia?" A meek babble, and he began using everything he had. He strangled Yao until he could no longer but whine. Combing until his skin was raw and torn. Denailing until there were no nails on his hands left. Whipping until his skin stung and red welts covered it. Blinding with light, until his eyes no longer saw anything but white in eternal darkness. Walling, a personal favourite of America's, until he could no longer think straight. He called men in to throw water at his face until he choked on it, until his throat screamed for anything but water. There was an episode of sound torture, where he watched from behind a window as the bound man listened to such high sound and high pitched sounds that screeched into his ears before it switched to heart-stabbing low frequencies [1]. At some point, America no longer cared about other reactions from the Chinese man other than he was still alive, not yet dead, not yet done. He was too lost in the sadistic pleasure of inflicting pain. He would never grow tired of this. And now, he had yet another country under his complete control. He smiled. This was going better than he had originally thought. This was much better than he could ever have dreamt.

* * *

_"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome._

_You all already know, most likely, who I am. But for those who have yet to know, I am your nation, the United States of America. And I can say, with firmness and confidence, that as I stand here, today, in front of you citizens of America, I am nothing but proud._

_Our nation has faced in its last few years, everything that can be possibly imaginable. We've faced economic hardship - but we go through that. Terrible elections - yet we survived. Threats and violence - and still, we prevail. Our nation has been, for the better part of the last half year, at war with a varying number of nations. The state of the world is, for now, unpredictable. Especially after the sudden detonation of nuclear weapons on Russian soil, and the revelation of Canadian military plans against the United States, we, as a people, decided to act. And so, we are still here today._

_It is because of you, my people, that I am still here today, because of your loyalty, your unwavering patriotism, your truthfulness and honesty to your nation. Your willingness to sacrifice yourselves for me - and me, for you._

_And yet, we are still not at rest. We are still not at peace. Hostile forces attempt still to gather themselves to attack us, despite the expanse our nation has reached. With now most of South America under our control, Africa only barely rebelling, Europe mostly made safe, and China with us, the only territory that seems to be holding against us is, once more, Russia. They are the ones who started all of this. Their alliance with Canada was only furthered by their mutual plans to attack U.S. territory, and now that they have lost their ally, they are only more angered. When their weapons reserves were destroyed, they did not attack us because they were too weak! They were too scared! But now, they've finally decided to drag us into this war, and so here we are! As I speak, nations who fled to Russia are forming an alliance, are planning attacks, are trying everything they can to stop us, Americans, from protecting what is ours. And if to protect what is ours, we must take over the world, and assert world dominance, then by God, we will do it!"_

* * *

"Well, well, this has been a hell of a long run, hasn't it, Braginsky?" Steel eyes stared into equally cold amethyst eyes.

"I could say exactly the same, Jones." Both felt the cold, hard mouths of the guns at their foreheads.

"You're not gonna give that up, are ya?" A smirk found its way to youthful lips.

"As little chance as there is of stopping you." A cold grimace on a cold face.

"Isn't that close to zero, then?" The ever-lasting snark.

"I wouldn't exactly say that, no." A surprise.

"Oh? And what makes you think that you can somehow stop me with a pathetic gun?" Amusement.

"Because that's exactly the same protection as you have. And one bullet each, am I wrong?" No.

"No, can't say you are. But I also have all of the world on my side, all of it - except your country. And I expect that to change soon." Really?

"I don't think so."

"You wanna test that out?"

"Gladly."

Simultaneous, world-shattering shots were fired in the great, empty warehouse. How easy it was to kill an already dying nation, whose power had been stripped from him by every nation who had needed his help. How easy it was to kill a teetering world power, whose strength was only there because it had been stolen from other countries. A madman, who had snapped and lost grip on reality, and a good man, whose heart was in the right place at the wrong time. How often in the past they had been mislabeled, only to end up in the same situation, with the same fate, but with different ends - one of them had so often betrayed himself but had now repented, while the other had so often repented for sins he had not committed but now had betrayed the world.

How easy it was for a nation to _die_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Combing is using an iron contraption used often to smooth out wool, I think, and digging it against the tortured's skin; kind of similar, in a way, to skinning. Denailing is a torture method in which nails are removed from fingers and toes, a very painful process. On some occasions, something like a wooden spike is shoved under the nail, digging in between nail and skin, before the nail is forced off. Blinding is a torture method, in which such a bright light is shone into the tortured's eyes until they are rendered blind. Walling is a torture method used by the CIA, hence it being one America's personal favourites: a collar is placed around the tortured's neck, and the collar is then used to slam the person against a wall; its methods are still quite unclear, from what I gather, as this is a very modern technique and therefore not flaunted much around. Having a water jet at someone's face, throwing water constantly onto someone's face causes a feeling similar to both choking and drowning, apparently. Sound torture is said to cause a person to go insane. This information is mainly off Wikipedia, some my own.


End file.
